The Clock
by RenewableAngelLane
Summary: In the aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry learns to cope with his new family.


"Ginny!"

Harry walked into the living room and dropped his bag onto the couch. No reply from his wife, though that wasn't unusual. Since being put on maternity leave after having their son, James, two months ago, Ginny had been going stir crazy cooped up in their house. She hadn't been to a Quidditch match in months, and therefore had been unable to write for her sports column in the Daily Prophet. Lately, she had been using any small excuse to get out of the house.

Harry headed into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of firewhisky. It was as he was switching on the radio that he noticed that Ginny had not left a note. That _was_ unusual.

No note on the counter. No note on the table. No note stuck to the refrigerator.

Harry left his glass untouched beside the radio and walked back into the kitchen, telling his heart to stop beating so fast, telling his mind not to wander to places that it hadn't gone in months. He couldn't let himself get worked up.

But Ginny _always_ left a note.

He speed-walked to the staircase, just short of running, and took the steps two at a time. He half-staggered down the hallway toward his young son's nursery and pushed the door open.

The crib was empty. No sign of baby James, and no sign of any sort of struggle.

Now Harry pulled out his wand. He could no longer control the speed of his pulse, the sweat forming along his brow. He left the nursery and ran to his and Ginny's room.

The bed was still unmade, there were some crumpled up tissues on the bedside table (Ginny was getting over a cold), and a half-full mug of black coffee on the dresser, but despite the overall unkempt nature of the room, it was obvious that nothing terrible had happened in there either. When Voldemort had murdered Harry's parents, then tried to kill him, his entire house had been left in ruins.

But Voldemort wasn't back. He couldn't be back. The Dark Lord was gone, dead, taken out by Harry himself.

Yet there was still that shadow of a whisper in the back of his mind that refused to dissipate. Every hooded figure he saw on Halloween was Voldemort reborn. He was still having nightmares, and he knew that Ginny was, too. It was this shared fear and paranoia that led each of them to leave a note whenever one of them left the house. It was something they didn't take lightly.

Visions of open-eyed corpses flashed through Harry's head. Fred, Lupin, Tonks, Dobby, Colin, Sirius, Lavendar, Snape, Cedric, Dumbledore…Hermione's torture-induced screaming reverberated through his ears…Ron shaking on the ground, the flesh on his arm torn and bloody…

…Ginny, dead on the floor, James crying in his crib, a jagged, lightning shaped scar on his forehead…

Suddenly, Harry heard a door downstairs open and slam shut. Brandishing his wand out in front of him, he sprinted down the stairs, skipped the last four steps, and jumped into the living room, the floor shaking underneath him.

Ginny stood in front of him, one hand on James's stroller, the other holding a plastic grocery bag. James was chewing on a chocolate frog card, cooing happily. Ginny was staring at Harry, mouth open and eyes fixed on the wand pointed at her chest.

Harry saw himself in the mirror just above Ginny's shoulder. He was pale and sickly looking, both eyes were twitchy and wide as Quaffles, and he was panting. He looked as though he had just escaped from a mental ward.

He looked back at Ginny, lowering his wand.

"I'm so sorry," he croaked, slipping his wand back into his pocket. "I'm so sorry." He swallowed, moistening his dry throat. "There was…no note. I thought that…maybe he was…."

As he stammered, Ginny set down the bag, walked over to him, and wrapped her arms around his waist. After a moment's hesitation, he responded in kind, pulling her closer. She pressed her nose into his chest and he rested his chin on top of her fiery red hair. She smelled like the flowers out in their garden and broomstick polish.

"I forgot," she said, her voice muffled. "We were out of milk and James was crying…we just needed to get out of the house, and…I'm so sorry, I just…forgot."

She pulled back and looked up at him. He smoothed her hair and smiled. James laughed in the background and threw his crumpled up card on the ground.

"I know we think of it as just Muggle mumbo-jumbo, but…maybe we should think about that therapist Hermione suggested," Harry said. "We can't keep going on like this, panicking anytime we don't know where the other is."

"And the nightmares…" Ginny closed her eyes and shivered. "I just want them to stop."

She turned around and stooped down to relinquish James from his stroller. His tiny fists shook with glee.

"But as for the 'not knowing where the other is'," she said, gently shaking James on her hip. "I think I have a solution."

A couple weeks later, with a request to Harry's father-in-law, there was a new furniture addition to the Potter home.

A clock, quite useless for telling time, but in every other regard, a godsend, stood in the foyer. It was the first thing anyone saw as soon as they walked into the house. Rather than numbers, there were locations: _Store, School, Work, Home_.

Instead of two hands, there were three spoons, labeled _Harry, Ginny,_ and _James_ , all currently pointed to _Home_.


End file.
